The Winchester Effect
by babyhilts
Summary: Harrison Winchester has just turned 23. He's lost everyone and a war his family fought ages ago is on the rise again. And just when he thinks he has this new hunt in the bag he is sent back in time to 2006. To a family destroyed by evil years ago.
1. Chapter 1: In the Bag

**A/N: **_So here is a new story. I'm taking a quick break from my other fic Postmortem for now as I'm having a bit of a block with that one. I will come back to it though. Anyway, this idea came to me and I don't think it's been done and well, I HAD to get this out. Enjoy and please review? Lol_

**Summary: **Harrison Winchester has just turned twenty three. Everyone he has ever loved has died, a war his family had fought years before his birth is on the rise once again and just when he thinks he has his latest hunt in the bag, Harrison is sent back in time. Back to 2006 and to a father who never knew him and an uncle he never met.

**Disclaimer: **_Yeah, I wish the boys of Supernatural were mine. The Gutter Girl in me says "Soon my precious' soon. They will be ours" lol but alas, they are not mine…yet ;)_

** The Winchester Effect  
**

**_ By: Babyhilts _**

Chapter 1: In the Bag

**Boise, Idaho  
February 2nd, 2040**

The leather jacket cracked with the buildup of cold. Knee deep in snow, the young man sat, waiting. Hunched over a small, leather bound book. The pages within it were wrinkled and brittle, dissolving into dust with even the lightest touch. Lettering barely legible and articles long outdated, he kept it by his side just the same. It was all he had left. The last remaining thing to connect him with a man he'd barely known. Nineteen years and he had never truly understood his father and now at twenty three, alone in the world, he wished he had. Had been given that chance to have a dad or some form of normalcy. Instead, fate had dealt him the hand of orphan. Of a motherless boy at barely a year old and the son of a man who didn't stay around long enough to care. He had been given the battered journal his grandfather had kept decades past. Now his own journal. The only thing he had left in the world.

The midnight sun lit a path along the crisp, glittering white fluff. Bruised cotton swallowed any chance of the stars coming out, to shine their radiance onto the town below. Before him, standing ominous at the edge of this darkness lay a dilapidated building. Once used for manufacturing soap, it had been abandoned for well over seven years. Its soul purpose now was in the sheltering of a homeless demon. The raven eyed creature he had the intention of killing.

Strewn in front, lay the silver flask. Just before a hunt he'd prefer a quick drink of Whiskey, something he'd picked up from the family genes he supposed, but now it held nothing but holy water. Engraved along the body were the initials _SW_. Like most other things in his procession, it had belonged to his father.

Harrison pocketed the flask into his jacket. The journal followed suite. Both objects firmly in place within the holds of his coat, he removed the six inch knife from the duffel bag. The blade was pickled from where it started at the hilt to it's very point with lambs blood. It would be his only defense once he entered the abandoned warehouse.

Long since past were the days where all it took was but a simple splash of holy water and an exorcism to vanquish a demon. Those had been ages ago. Back when his father had been his own age. Now, things were not so easy. Since the war and his uncle's demise, nothing had been simple. His father had thought all their problems had ended. He'd started a life, made himself a stable home and then, like clockwork, it had all returned. Evil more potent, demons more crafty, the world his father grew up in and the one he lived in now, were too very different times.

Harrison surveyed the quiet, snow covered field. He tensed as a cool breeze lifted the frostbitten limbs of a nearby pine. Thumps of ice dropping through the snow reverberated through the night. Behind him sat the winding, back road. Deserted save for his rusty old Chevy that hung together with duct tape.

Anxiety clenched impatient fists along his chest while the young hunter walked stealthily up the torn path. Frozen gravel crunched underfoot. The sound made his grip around the blade tighten.

Brick siding came into view. Slow, patient steps and he was standing under the looming shadow of building. Ancient charms, -connected with a silver chain about his wrist- clinked together as he opened the door. With little hesitation he ventured deep inside the structure. Thick was the air inside scented with the chocking smell of mold and stale perfume. The main room was vacant. The wooden floors creaked, splintering under his weight. Dampness consumed him. The walls were marred with crater sized holes from when termites had once been a problem. A pitter patter of clawed feet sounded, letting the invader be warned, that rats also chose to room here.

Harrison ventured forward. Around boxes containing outdated office supplies and shattered fluorescent light fixtures that had once been attached to the ceilings. He took a turn into the first room. A wide open space lined with dust layered conveyer belts. Most of the equipment had been stripped from the building he noted. The room held nothing of interested upon second glance and so he left it be; returning to the stretch of hall.

Two more rooms had been inspected and both turned up little results. The mangled body of a rat scampered across his booted foot. Back legs tripping over the steeled toe, it somersaulted back into the shadows, squealing a trail of obscenities into the nearest room. The hunter smiled grimly, knowing he'd be soaking his footwear in boiled water and the most powerful antibacterial he could find, just to get the residue of vermin off the leather.

The thought came and left in an instant. He had to focus on the task before him. One miscalculation and that would be it. However, with everything else he'd inherited from his father; the journal, the flask, the good looks, it should not have been surprising that he would also inherit the classic Winchester bad luck. He was already well accustom to this but as the meaty fist sprung from the depths of the darkness and met his jaw head on with folded knuckles, he realized he should have been more prepared.

Harrison Winchester stumbled, reeling from the blow that shattered the silence with the sharp cracking sound of bones. His vertigo took off, misleading him and sending him stepping forwards and backwards in hopes of catching his balance.

Laughter fingered the air above his head. Something shifted by his left and as he made to cut the demon through he was clocked in the head. The sheer force sent the hunter to his knees. He hit the floor, breaking through and forming superficial scars along the wood. A groan escaped chapped lips before he could hold it in.

"Big mistake coming here, little boy."

The hunter ignored the taunt. He felt the presence of a warm body somewhere next to his right. Hunched over the floor, he slipped a hand into his coat and removed the holy water. Although he felt skilled in the art of stealth it had obviously been no match for the keen eyesight of the demon.

A shuffle sounded beside him. A fast shuffle. Harrison removed the lid off the flask and with one quick jerk, sprayed an uncalculated amount of water into the shadows. Smoke blinded him as the pained screams of the man he possessed radiated along the hall walls. He blinked away tears but with each attempt more seemed to rise. The grey wisps emanating from the demons chest billowed up and into his face.

Harrison rubbed away the offending liquid with the back of his hand. Defenses down and the demon recovering, he had little time to react to the head thrusting deep into his stomach. His lungs deflated with one heavy gasp. The hunter hit back first into the wall. Parts of the building crumbled under the attack. Plaster ran in pieces down his chest and atop his head. The pain that crawled the length of his shoulder blades and along his spine was nothing compared to the loud buzzing noise that seemed all consuming.

A flash of black appeared before him. Unable to move for some reason, Harrison watched as the demon stood before him, inches from his face. Dressed in the fresh skin of a man nearing his fifties, he wore a salt and peppered beard, with a head of hair to match. A toothy grin, soiled with malice reflected in the hunter's stony eyes.

The demon's attention flicked towards the knife, still held dangerously in Harrison right hand. Although pinned to a wall, it wouldn't be of much use to him anymore.

"Thought we'd have a little fun, did we?"

Rough fingers pried apart his own with a bit of difficulty. The nails cut and clawed into the hunter's tanned flashed until the blade was released and fell to the floor. The metal clattered off the wood. The young Winchester tensed beneath the sadistic glare of the demon.

"Now, hows about we have some more fun? Shall we?"

If given the chance to answer, he'd have said no and hightailed it back to Kansas where he belonged. Of course, things never worked out quite that way.

A meaty hand encircled his neck. Eyes that had once been a deep black now glowed unnatural white light upon the demon's face. The whites of his eyes vanished, consumed by the supernatural power surging through the stolen body.

The hunter struggled against the force keeping him stilled against the wall. More plaster broke and that was it. Harrison pinched his face, holding back the urge to panic. The hand about his neck tightened, squeezing the life from his body with each increase of pressure. The fingers dug into his flesh and the buildup of power running through the demon found its path into his own self.

Sparking agony along the walls of his throat, Harrison opened his mouth to scream and fell short. White heat erupted within the cavity of his chest. The pain lanced a trail slowly throughout his system. Churning his stomach and numbing his limbs. His eyes swelled from the tears he could not stop.

Oxygen would not reach his parched lungs. His legs, although tired, kicked out in desperation for the small commodity. He could hear the harsh thumping of his heart as it picked up speed and thrashed beneath layers sweat and cotton shirts. Harsh laughter filtered through the pain. The fingers dug deeper and the demon leaned in close. Breath hot and rank along his face. The hunter wheezed, an attempt to take in air. A failed attempt.

"Now for my final act."

The eyes flickered towards the right. With his only remaining hand, the demon brought it overhead the hunter. Harrison's eyes followed the movement, not anticipating the blade he'd dropped to move on it's own accord. However, as he waited for the demon to bring his meaty fist down upon him he found he had failed to remember one of the golden rules of hunting. To always be alert of what was going on around you.

One minute he was watching a fist and the next he was tasting the cold steel of his own blade. Six inches of pain wedged deep inside his stomach. Deep enough so that within a short amount of time the blow would prove fatal.

Harrison gasped and wished he could fold in on himself. Fold in on the pain that seemed to engulf his entire self. His knees buckles as his chin slipped to rest on his chest. The blood was leaving him, slithering down the length of his jeans in waves of dark sanguine.

A finger raised his head to face his enemy. The eyes still glowed but the fear they'd once instilled in the hunter no longer remained. He knew this was it. The knife was too far. The wound too deadly. What more could this creature do, to scare him?

"Do not fret son, this trick of mine has just begun."

The voice faded suddenly, dissipating into a orange haze that seemed to have come out of nowhere. The hunter felt the pressure around his neck leave and the force keeping him upright with it. As darkness fell across his sights and the world turned on its axis, Harrison finally crumpled in a bloody heap; falling through the orange haze and into the cold, welcoming arms of death.

**Topeka, Kansas  
June 18th, 2006**

Consciousness trickled in with the winding of a cool breeze. The young hunter struggled to seat himself upright. Darkness still remained intact. His fast approaching demise seemed to have taken some sort of pause, he noted. His hands searched the folds of his jacket and along the damp cotton shirts he wore, coming away without any blood. No cuts. No pain. It was as though the last fifteen minutes had never happened.

Harrison ran a hand through his thick, brown bangs. His eyes roamed the sky and somehow he didn't remember ever stepping out of the soap factory. They spied the stars that shattered the dark tapestry above and the all consuming light of the half moon. Finally they rested upon the neon glow of the ever looming sign. _Husky Taverns _shone bright red throughout the night. The hunter eyed it skeptically.

A chorus of laughter sounded from his left. As the young Winchester turned his full attention on the intoxicated couple stumbling out of the bar, he realized that he was not in Idaho anymore. There was no soap factory anywhere in the near vicinity; that he could tell already.

Before him, bathed in the dim light of the neon sign was some seedy roadside bar that must have seen better days. Around him, a parking lot. He took in the cars, his heart thumping madly against his chest. The cars were ancient. Models way before 2020.

Slowly the hunter rose to his feet. A sickness was taking up space inside his stomach. His mind was telling him that this couldn't be and yet, the hunter in him said anything was possible. Somehow, in some way or another he'd been sent packing into the past. Way before he'd ever been born. To some time he wasn't the least familiar with. This fact was certain because there were the cars and unless there was some type of car convention in town…well, he was sure there wasn't.

Harrison struggled to pull himself together. He was helpless however, without any means of survival in a place he was not familiar with. It shouldn't have surprised him that the demons powers would go way beyond what he'd expected. Since the war back in 2009 the new line of demons clawing their way out of hell were prepared. They were a better breed, with more knowledge that he hadn't prepared for. Deciding that his best option at the moment was making his way into the bar and hustling some poor sap out of some money so that he may have a place to sleep for the night, Harrison ventured onward. He had made but a few steps when something from just off to the left caught his attention. Turning fully, the hunter froze, fixated on what stood before him.

The sleek black hump, glowed unscratched and showing no signs of rust. Polished rims. It still bore the same Kansas plates he'd come to know and love. He'd hated the vehicle at one time but now, before him in all its Chevy glory was the same car he drove. Although age had yet to lay her vicious claws upon its nice finish. The back windows had no bullet holes and her bumper was not being held on with mounds of duct tap. Harrison ran unsteady fingers along the trunk. This same car had been left to him with his father's death. It had been a lemon when he'd inherited it but for some reason it seemed to have sentimental value to his old man. Looking at it now, as it must have looked long ago, he understood why his father had cared for it so much. It really was a sight for sore eyes.

* * *

So, awkward place to leave it but I'm a leave it there anyway. Just wanted to give everyone a taste of what was happening. Will be posting the next chapter tomorrow hopefully and Dean and Sam will make their dramatic appearance. lol And yeah, Harrison a smart cookie and figured out in a snap that he's done the time warp again. :P Want to see what Harrison looks like type in Corey Sevier into IMDB. I will have a link up for a pic in the next post! 


	2. Chapter 2: Family Reunion

**A/N: **_Thank you everyone who was so kind enough to review and to those sneaky few who favorite this but still read. I love you all. What a nice turnout for a first chapter! Anyway, the first chapter was a small taste of who Harrison is but it's barely scraping the surface of this story, soooo here is Chapter 2 and whole lot of head spinning drama. Hopefully. Please, be sure to hit that small purple button at the end and give me an idea of how I'm doing :D_

**Disclaimer: **So I got a phone call from Kripke's lawyers telling me to stop sending those threatening letters to his office. But I wont! I will own Supernatural one day. One day Kripke, one day!

**Summary:** Harrison Winchester has just turned twenty three. Everyone he has ever loved has died, a war his family had fought years before his birth is on the rise once again and just when he thinks he has his latest hunt in the bag, Harrison is sent back in time. Back to 2006 and to a father who never knew him and an uncle he never met.

**The Winchester Effect**

**_By: Babyhilts_**

Chapter 2: Family Reunion…Winchester Style

Panic had set in. Eroding the soft lining of his stomach until he almost believed he might get sick all over the blacktop. But he was a hunter; a man skilled with the ability to wield a machete and fire a crossbow. He could disassemble a gun in the time it would take the average person to eat a ho-ho. Latin was a second language to the young man and when all the other kids in the fourth grade were playing softball after school, he was playing bait to vengeful spirits.

The fact was, he was a hunter. Harrison Winchester, twenty three, was a trained hunter, who had to get a grip on a very unnatural situation. Nineteen years his father had taught him everything he knew now. The one thing he just so conveniently left out was time travel. Until then he hadn't thought it would be such a problem. For all he knew, it shouldn't even exist. Yet there he was. Standing dead center in a parking lot, in a time he was unsure of.

Harrison took his fear and molded it into something constructive. He would take this misfortune and work with it; somehow. First thing first, he had to find the owner of that black Impala. It would be very unlikely that there would be another 67 Chevy Impala running around the world with the exact same plates as the one his father had.

The hunter tugged his jacket into place to cover the wrinkled shirt beneath. Head held high, he walked with false confidence across the parking lot and into the tavern. Condensed tobacco smoke wafted through the open door. Thick clouds of grey tar encircled the hunter. He stepped across the soiled tavern floor. His boots creating a sharp clip clip noise as he traveled the small expanse of space to the bar.

People -none too sober- grinded slick, sweat coated flesh along one another. Harrison forced a smirk when a tall, lengthy blonde rubbed along his thigh. A manicured nail caught him round the left buttock. Any other time and he'd have stayed. Given himself fully to the alcohol and music. However, hunting always came first in his life and right now, he was on a hunt.

Harrison reached the bar; sucking in a heavy breath of humid, stale air. The bartender caught his attention from the opposite end. Plum broke, he mouthed the word water. The man, hair line thinning and stomach widening frowned and shot the hunter a look that seemed to question his character.

Harrison shrugged and spun back around in his stool. He surveyed the small, dimly lit bar. Through waves of swaying bodies and hordes of drunken laughter, he searched. Searching for some form of familiarity among a room of strangers. The jukebox blared lousy country stuff that in his day would only ever be found on the oldies station. Now he guessed it was the in thing.

"Here's your drink son."

The bartender dropped a soap stained glass beneath his nose. Harrison took it, grateful to clench the dry ache in his throat. He savored the water, letting it refresh him. The eyes of the aging barkeep followed his movements. Blue eyes flicked to his hold on the glass to his Adam's apple that bobbed with each delicious gulp.

"Something wrong?" the hunter set the glass -empty now- back onto the bar.

"Kid, just why is you here? You ain't drinking. If you is lookin' ta start trouble"

Harrison smirked at the old man. "Meeting some friends and no, I don't drink. Got off that stuff a while back and have been clean and sober since. Nasty habit."

The lie rolled off his tongue without flaw. The bartender seemed to take the bait and after a small pause he gave the hunter a short nod and went back to his other customers.

Fifteen minutes came and went. Harrison was on his third glass of water. Eyes half lidded splayed across the tavern. Nothing. No one he recognized. Enough time had been wasted sitting at the bar that he was almost certain that the owners of the Chevy may have already left the bar. Still, there was hope that they were still around. Somewhere in the back of the bar perhaps? Or maybe ordering another round of drinks.

Harrison finished his drink and left. The bar was too stuff and he was getting nowhere sitting on his ass waiting for something to happen. Once outside he took a thankful breath of the fresh night air. It was muggy out but a cool breeze lingered and it was most welcomed by the young hunter.

Making his way through rows of sleeping cars, he came upon the Chevy once again. It sat, silent, covered in a thin blanket of dew. He still could not get over how nice the ol' girl looked. The Chevy he remembered was a piece of junk. One mechanical failure away from the scrap yard and yet this thing was something worth worshipping. To even mention her and scrap yard in the same sentence would seem sacrilegious.

Harrison crawled onto the car. As he eased into a comfortable stretch along the hood, his back supported by the sturdy windshield, he decided that he would have to wait out the hours until the owners finally came around. He hopped that whomever they were, whether he knew them or not, that they'd be a little friendly. Wrestling with a few intoxicated people in the middle of a parking lot wasn't his idea of a good vacation back in time but if it happened…well, he'd be ready.

With time the hunter's eyes slid close. Darkness fell over him, wrapping comforting arms about the young man and pulling him into a light sleep.

"Hey, buddy, get the hell of my car."

Harrison stumbled back to awareness. The remnants of sleep slowly fell away as he lifted heavy lidded eyes. A chill was lining his spine from the cool steel of the Chevy. The layer of dew now coated his jacket and had seeped through the legs of his jeans. The hunter struggled upright, trying to iron out the crease in his damp Levi's before he felt two, ungentle hands grab him round his shirt collar.

The man tripped over his own, stiff limbs. He crumpled to the cement floor, the grip around him still firmly in place. Blinking away the small film of crust around his eyes, he looked on all sides in hopes of spotting his attacker. A shadow, well over six feet hovered to his left while his attacker -a shorter man- stayed in front. The moon played off his back, covering the stranger in darkness and making it impossible for the hunter to see his face.

"What were you doing hanging around my car? Does it look like a bed to you?"

Something stirred next to Harrison and another voice, lighter than the first spoke up.

"Come on Dean, the guy is probably wasted. Just forget it."

The hand fell away. Harrison lifted his head and caught the intense glare coming from the pair of hazel eyes. The man stepped into the light. It outlined his muscular frame and dark, leather jacket. Brown hair cut short and styled in a semi spiked fashion. He wore a tight grin, his face void of any emotion. He carried this kind of arrogance that was associated with hunters but Harrison could tell it wasn't so much arrogance as it was the truth. If this man wanted to he could probably lay him out flat on his ass, right then and there.

Harrison rose to his full height of six three. He tugged his jacket into place. It had a little extra dirt on it after being thrown from the hood but besides that it was fine. Before him the owner of the car stood. Beside him, the owner's friend. He dared to look that way. Brown eyes matched a head of unruly brown shag. The man was obviously younger than his friend. He stood only an inch or so taller than Harrison himself which was an incredible feat.

"So, this car belongs to you?"

He turned his attention away from the taller of the two. It was the owner, the one who seemed to have something to prove, that held his attention.

"Yeah, this car belongs to me and I don't appreciate drunk frat boys taking naps on her hood."

Harrison couldn't help the cocky grin. It fell into place naturally. The Chevy owner turned his eyebrows upwards, surprise taking over his otherwise cool exterior.

"Something about that funny?"

"Nope."

The man shuffled impatiently, waiting it seemed, for Harrison to say something else or to just be on his way. The young man did neither. Silence reigned supreme throughout the parking lot.

"Okay, that's it."

He lunged for Harrison, arms out, callused hands reaching for his neck. Fisted knuckles aiming for his face. The young hunter dodged the blow meant for his temple. He sidestepped a kick that had been meant for his jaw.

Hands raised in a pleading manner, Harrison circled around and away from his attacker. He eyed the man's companion and still there was no threat there.

"I'm not looking for a fight" Harrison soothed.

"Then why are you still here?"

"A name" he said. "I'm looking for a name."

"Whose?"

The taller man stepped alongside his friend. Thick brown bangs covering the top half of his face. Harrison eased his hands to his side, relaxing only in the slightest.

"Yours."

Both men shared a look. Fear. Surprise. Anger. Emotions of all sorts escaped an otherwise fitted mask. A mask that they'd held in place throughout the last five minutes but with that one word it fell apart.

Harrison shifted uncomfortably beneath the look, because now, they were directing it at him.

"Why do you need our names?"

"It's a bit complicated but, you may be someone I know."

The short haired man laughed. "Look pal, you've been drinking a little too much and you're not all there…"

An insistent, pushy hand came out to help him and Harrison, with all the anger of a true Winchester jerked back from the touch. He was seething now. He didn't need to be coddled like some drunken idiot. He needed answers.

"Jesus, can you tell me if one of you is a Winchester or not? That's not so damn hard, is it? How bout I get you bozos a pad and paper, then maybe I can draw you a diagram?"

"Listen, you cocky, son of a…"

"Dean!" The taller man stepped forward. "Yeah, we're both Winchesters."

Harrison's head was buzzing. The façade was slipping out from under him. He could feel his heart threading madly beneath his chest, thrashing its soft body into his ribs. The world seemed to stop turning at that point. His tongue was thick, mouth parched behind compare.

"Are you…what…what is your first name?"

"Come on, this is bullshit. What's he need our names for? You don't honestly trust him?"

But then, just as before, the other man replied; ignoring the warnings from his partner.

"That's Dean and I'm Sam."

"You're Sam Winchester?"

His mind was reeling now. The man before him couldn't have been any older than himself, maybe even younger. The man who was watching him wearily, unsure if he could be trusted, did not look a thing like the man he remembered. Where was the dark beard? What sort of innocence was this that had taken away the dull, brown iris' he'd grown to hate? Where was the finely etched white scar that lined his left cheek? Where in this kid was Sam Winchester? Harrison couldn't see it. Behind the wide, hopeful eyes? Underneath a head of long, shaggy hair? Where in this stranger was his father? Where was his strength? His hero? The man he'd watched die those four years ago?

Voices siphoned slowly through his thoughts. Harrison caught Sam's attention. He could feel his eyes swelling with the rise of tears. There'd only been a handful of times where he'd cried. His father's funeral had been one of them. As much as he'd tried to fight the man and his quest of vengeance, he'd loved him. No matter what he said, he loved him. Now, this boy, this lanky youth, was him? No, it couldn't be. And yet…

Harrison took a tentative step forward. His hands were shaking; his knees buckling. He was afraid his body would collapse beneath the tension rising up through him but somehow he held it together. By the time he stopped moving he was a mere inch or two from Sam. He eyed the young man. From his dimples all the way to the mole on his cheek. The signature marking that was Sam Winchester.

"You…you really are him."

How was this possible? It didn't matter. Here he was. His father; alive and in person. Going back home didn't matter anymore because now Harrison wasn't living alone in the world. He wouldn't have to wander from motel to motel without the companionship he'd taken for granted throughout the years with his father. Now God, or whatever sadistic being control the fate of the universe had given him a second chance. For that, he was thankful.

"This has been fun, it really has but Sam doesn't swing that way. So…"

Dean left his position and was pushing and shoving him once again. Steering him away from his younger brother. Harrison tried to claw his way out of the man's hands. He dug the heels of his boots along the asphalt and spun out of the entanglement of arms.

The hunter was breathing heavily, both from strain and shock. Dean looked about ready to take another go at clearing his ass out of the parking lot but by that time pieces were falling into place for Harrison. His mind was catching up slowly, but catching up just the same.

"Lord help me, you're, you're Dean then?"

Dean faltered in his movements.

"Yeah, so?"

Harrison couldn't believe it. Dean Winchester. The infamous uncle his father spoke of during those long nights of drinking. Belly fully of rum, he'd go on about the last battle. The one that had ended his uncle's life well over twenty years earlier. He'd always wished to meet him and there he was; alive and well. Full of that same fire Winchester fire.

"This is too much" Harrison whispered.

"What is?"

Sam's attention had been caught. Harrison knew his father to be a smart, curious man. Always questioning things. It didn't surprise the young man that it would be him who took the reigns on this one.

"You're not going to believe this but…well, what the hell. I'm Harrison Winchester."

Sam shrugged. Dean smirked.

"Harrison? What kinda name is that?"

"The kind my dad liked." Harrison turned to Sam. "And uh…that, would be you."

Harrison watched the grin around Dean's mouth only get wider. Sam's face on the other hand simply fell. He was sizing him up, Harrison realized. He seemed completely serious whereas Dean…

"Sammy, when did this happen?"

Laughter broke out through the parking lot.

"Were you hooking up way back in the womb?"

More laughter.

"Dude, we have to take this on Jerry Springer. Or maybe Oprah. Hell, how bout both?"

The laughter was thick and laced with denigration. Harrison clamped his mouth shut and held in the anger. If push came to shove he'd tackle the hyena Winchester if he had to. Uncle or not, no one belittled him. Especially after they'd just been tossed through the space and time and ended up in some rundown bar.

"How bout you lay off" he snapped. "I'm telling the truth."

"Sure, you are. Come on Sammy, let's get out of here."

Sam was still deep in thought but it seemed as though his brother's words were starting to convince him that Harrison was just another drunk, in a one horse town. He wasn't going to let him get away that easily though. If at all, he was a stubborn bastard, something his dad was and something that would come to bite Sam Winchester in the ass.

"You don't believe me?"

Dean threw his hands over his head and as he brought them back down, ran them across his face. He heaved one of those dramatic sighs and stepped up to meet Harrison in the face. The younger man could feel the hot breath of the older hunter roll across his face. It was tainted with the smell of liquor. How nice.

"Yeah, I don't believe you. So how about you take your story to somehow who might actually care to believe it."

Harrison frowned but he still wouldn't be deterred. Thrusting the left flap of his jacket open, he reached a hand into the pocket. His fingers felt the steel of small blade, encased in its suede sheath. He moved it off to the side and felt the loose, leather binding. The brittle pages breaking now as he fumbled to pull it out. If anything, this would prove it. Show them he was for real. That he meant business.

He practically threw the battered journal at Dean. The older man fumbled to catch the tattered piece of leather. Cautiously, -as if the book may snap out of it's daze and bite him- he lifted it towards the light.

"Still want me to take this story somewhere else?"

* * *

So I found this chapter to be a bit tough. I'm still setting up the story because well, had to introduce Harrison and then have him meet the fam, right? So, I hope this was to everyone's liking and I hope you're all still interested in it. I should have the next chapter up tomorrow. I usually write longer chapters but I want to keep the updates pretty regular, soooo how was it? Like, dislike? Shocked that Sammy has a kid? Who is oddly enough the same age? Lol. Please, let me know. Hit that purple button and send a review ;) 


	3. Chapter 3: Hard to Believe

**A/N: **_Wow, the response for this story has been incredible. It's really encouraging to have so many people review and to know that so many like this story. Well, here's the next chapter. I'm going to try and keep the updates as regular as possible for this thing. Either every day or every second day. So keep checking back. The plot is just coming together in my head so…bare with me :D Oh and their may be mistakes, I type this up and post it right away usually. I try to work out the bugs but their are always some so, sorry :( Hope this is to everyone's liking. If so, or if not, let me know what you think. Push that lil review button :D  
_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything! Sigh, but I wish I did. Oh, wait. Harrison IS mine!

**Summary: **Harrison Winchester has just turned twenty three. Everyone he has ever loved has died, a war his family had fought years before his birth is on the rise once again and just when he thinks he has his latest hunt in the bag, Harrison is sent back in time. Back to 2006 and to a father who never knew him and an uncle he never met.

**The Winchester Effect**

**_By: Babyhilts_****  
**

Chapter 3: Hard to Believe

The elder hunter seemed at a loss for words. From where he stood, Harrison could not make out his face. The man's head hung low, hovering over the journal. He watched his fingers contour the dents and abrasions along the leather. The flap of binding torn from its spine; paper trying to unwedge themselves from the rest.

"Dean, what is it?"

Harrison's arms felt itchy. He scratched them with a nervous apprehension; nails digging recklessly along his tanned flesh. Suddenly taking out the journal didn't seem like such a good idea.

Hazel eyes shot skywards. Searching it seemed for answers from the ebony curtain. A pause, short lived and the hunter was moving. Harrison startled back a step or so, unsure of what now possessed Dean Winchester to move so erratically through the parking lot.

Sam was shouting something. Dean was running. He tore the passenger side door open and dove across the seat. The squeak of metal resonated through the air. Fumbling through the interior and grazing the upholstery with muddy boots. A sharp fist connected with the glove compartment. The plastic thudded twice before giving into the abuse.

The only remaining item left behind by John Winchester came tumbling towards Dean. As the door dropped, the journal landed with a solid clunk sound. A book he knew all too well. The one that had led them to so many victories and had saved so many lives. There it lay, waiting to be scooped into loving arms.

Dean's eyes flickered to the item held safely in the crook of his arms. The eyes flickered to the item on the glove compartment. Both, identical; both here and now; at this very time. These two journals were one in the same.

Hands shaking, he took the journal from the glove compartment door. It was in better shape than the one Harrison had given him but if what the kid had said was true-and it was starting to look that way- then it made sense.

The boy in question was waiting for him as he climbed back out of the car. His hands were rubbing the soft skin along his forearm raw. It was red and sore and Dean didn't think the kid knew what he was doing to himself. He had this wide eyed innocence buried beneath all this hate. It was the same look Sam would get sometimes.

Dean glanced wearily at the stranger. His possible nephew from the future. Sam was to his left, leaning against the Impala's front bumper. He was tense, confused, waiting to know what he did. Did Sam have to find out though? Dean didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to put more stress on his littler brother but at the same time…

"Dean, what's going on here?"

Harrison felt the sickness returning. His stomach felt knotted; it felt bloated. The bile dared to rise up into his throat and he was doing all he could to swallow it back down. He wanted so desperately to try and take this calm. The last thing the hunter needed was to start blowing chunks all over his long lost family. What an impression that would be.

He reached for his left arm once again. It was there, hanging, waiting for him to claw the itch out. The anxiety was pumping through his veins. Inches below the skin; he could feel it, like a small parade of insects marching through his system. Making him itch all the more.

Why did it itch so much? He applied more pressure. Scratched harder. Had to get the feeling out; had to try and stay calm. Why wasn't it working? Why wasn't the itch going away?

"Dude, relax."

Warmth invaded his body. Harrison lifted heavy eyes. A strange look reflected from the depths of Dean's gaze. His hand was latched about the boy's right wrist. Tugging the dangerous fingers away from the wounded arm; letting the itch grow.

Blood ran gentle rivers along his flesh. Red stained the tips of his fingers; pieces of flesh stuck beneath his nails. Harrison shuddered. Dean's grip loosened enough for him to let his hand fall back at his side.

Shallow cuts scarred the otherwise smooth skin. A dull pain was winding its way from the open wound. Harrison ignored the sting. He tried to forget that he'd inflicted it upon himself. The idea of slowly loosing touch with reality scared him. He didn't want to start have a psychotic breakdown. Not now. He couldn't. Even if he wanted to- and God sometimes he wanted to let go so bad- he couldn't. Like a good little soldier he had to push through this pain. Just like all the other times. There was nothing different about this one.

"Dean. What-the-hell-is-going-on."

Dean studied the boy in front of him. He didn't want anyone getting hurt, not now when so much seemed to be happening. He would need this kid fresh and alive. After a second, he let his gaze shift to Sam. His younger brother was getting impatient now and it was obvious that Dean wouldn't be able to lie about the journal. Too much had happened in such a short span of time. To lie to his brother would just be a waste.

"Sam, I think this kid is for real."

The journal-Harrison's journal- found its way into his brother's hands. Sam shook his head, not understanding. Dean took out their own journal and passed it over as well.

"He, has our journal. Dad's journal. That one there, that's ours and…yeah, you get it."

The two journals flipped and turned in the hunter's hands. He moved skeptical eyes over each marking, each identifying feature. He was looking for similarities. Looking for something that would make what Harrison was saying untrue. Sam knew the result would be nothing. His brother was a skilled hunter. If there had been something, anything, he would have found it already. Had there been something then Harrison would already be eating pavement with a brand new shiner.

"So, that means…"

Sam struggled to breathe. His mouth felt unreasonably dry. The stranger, the kid named Harrison was just standing there shuffling his feet. Although his head was held high, almost defiantly, he seemed to be struggling with this as well. Of course, if this was true, than that made Harrison his son. His future son, but his son just the same.

"You're my son?"

Harrison nodded solemnly.

"You don't look much of anything but I see him in you. Parts of him."

Dean stared from Sam to Harrison. How was this possible? How as this freaking possible?

"How is this possible?"

"I…I think it happened when I was on the hunt. There was this demon…"

"Wait, you hunt?"

Sam looked sick. His face paled considerably. He was running unsteady hands through his hair. Over and over again, not stopping, not even when Dean shot him the look. Harrison seemed unaffected by all of it. Why should it have surprised Sam that his son hunted?

"Yeah, I hunt. Don't you two?"

"Of course we do" said Dean.

"But…but you're my son." Sam was trying to get the words straight. "How come my son hunts?"

"It was always like that. From the time when I was a kid. You gave me my first .45 and…"

"Oh, God."

Sam wasn't feeling too hot now. Not only was his stomach doing flips below his uvula, he was also starting to get lightheaded. The parking lot tilted dangerously. The sky melted and was washing in waves onto the asphalt. Parked cars rolled in straight, intact lines. Stars rained down from the black tapestry above and the moon rolled out of orbit.

The young Winchester pushed what was left of his strength into the Impala's bumper. The metal scrapped as he dropped his weight against it. He could feel Dean grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him to attention. Sam only pinched his eyes shut, trying to keep out the tunnel vision. If he opened them the blackness would seep in and he'd pass out in his brother's arms.

"Sam? Sammy, come on…"

"Look, it's no big deal" Harrison called. "The hunting, you get used to it. After a while you understand that this is just supposed to be your life and you just accept it. It's no biggie, really."

Sam's body fell further into Dean's arms. The elder hunter grunted, now practically holding his baby brother off the cement. His eyes narrowed. He could hear the kid, Harrison, still blabbering to himself. What he was saying now he wasn't sure and he didn't care.

"Kid, will ya shut up!"

Harrison froze. He clenched his hands into tight fists to hold in the anger now boiling to the surface.

Dean slipped his arms beneath Sam and gently brought him to his feet. Sam was swaying gently. His eyes were open, wide and pained. They moved towards Harrison and stayed. For a minute neither boy blinked, just stared into the same brown irises. The same disheveled brown hair.

Harrison forced a lopsided grin. The fists disappeared and he combed his bangs out of his face.

"Well, that was a nice chick-flick moment. How bout we have another the next time you meet your son from the future."

Muscles parted Sam's lips. Through the dwindling sickness he smiled.

* * *

Harrison relaxed into the upholstery. Ten minutes now, driving along a deserted road; Dean behind the wheel and Sam at his side. It just made sense that they would take him along. There he was, the only heir to the Winchester throne, without a dollar to his name and stuck in the past. 

The year 2006. That's what Dean had told him when he asked. It was a time he'd only heard about from his father. The days when him and Dean would drive the back roads of America, hunting the supernatural. It was a time before the full on demon war had come in to play and a time when his grandfather had been dead and gone.

Oldies played through the Chevy, filling the interior with heavy metal riffs. Sam didn't seem to care for it much whereas Dean tapped the steering wheel in beat with each song. Sitting in the back, listening to the music and having the presence of another Winchester around brought about a sense of calm for Harrison. The tension in his back released. He was even able to let his eyes drift close now and again without the thought of having his throat slit the moment they opened. He hadn't felt at peace like this for years.

It wasn't long until they were turning. Harrison was half awake and mostly asleep. The thick strap of the seatbelt did nothing to keep him upright. As the Chevy made her turn into the motel lot, the young man turned with her. He let his body fall awkwardly in the restraint before coming to rest across the bench seat.

The engine purred. Vibrations wound their way through Harrison's body. He mumbled his pleasure. The upholstery has this odd smell of onion rings to it. Deep fried grease. He rubbed his cheek hungrily against the rough fabric. So warm.

The Impala shook. Her driver rubbed her dash one last time; a loving goodnight caress. Sam pushed the passenger door open, stumbling, dead tired to the trunk. It was his job to take care of their bags. He knew his brother was starting to feel the after effects from those few shots he'd had at the bar. On top of that, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle a father/son conversation with the man in their back seat.

Sam grumbled something about getting their room key. Duffel bags weighing down his back, the young Winchester made the short trek to check in.

Great, so it was Dean's job to wake up the long lost Winchester. He was already at the back, knowing he'd have to. One look on Sam's face and he could tell his brother did not want to deal with this tonight. He didn't want to deal with it either, but that was the curse of being the first born. Big brothers had to make sacrifices for their little brothers.

Dean tugged the back door open. Harrison was sprawled across the seat. His breathing even and steady, so at least he knew the kid wasn't dead. Dean leaned through the interior. He eyed the young man up and down. Same lanky body of his brothers; if he didn't know any better he'd say the kid was Sam. An inch or so short mind you, but covered in shadow Dean wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

"Hey, Baby Sammy, you awake?"

Harrison shifted and the seatbelt tugged. A cool breeze was slowly chasing away his warmth. Artificial light glowed from the open door. He raised his head barely an inch off the seat and caught a dark figure hanging off the door frame. The smell of English Leather penetrated his deep fried haven. Dean, he surmised. Wonderful. Flopping back onto the seat, he ground and dug his face into the soft, comfort of his arm. Just another minute and he'd be able to drag himself out of the Chevy.

"Come on Jr. Wakey, wakey."

Two rough hands tackled him from the dark. They unleashed him from the seat and he sunk further into contentment. His chest was still tangled in the fabric of the seatbelt but he could care less. It was the shaking, the grubby hands on his arms and lower back that bothered him.

"Dude, piss off."

Harrison kicked out, not taking the time to aim and just hitting air. He choked back a sigh when his foot didn't connect and flung himself onto his back. Dean was leaning over him, pushed against the back seat after having narrowly missed the rogue boot sent his way.

"Just, go" the young hunter moaned. "I'll sleep in the car."

Dean laughed. "I don't think so. You may look like Sammy but doesn't mean I trust you. Now get your ass off the upholstery and start walking."

Harrison kicked out again, using both legs to pump himself upright and perhaps get a good shot in at Dean. The hunter backed off just in time and nearly tripped out the door. A tired Winchester was never a pleasure to be around and Harrison could care less at the moment whether or not he was making a good impression on his uncle or not. Fact was that although he didn't have that gaping stab wound from earlier, he was exhausted as hell. His stress level was potent enough to kill and he just wanted to sleep; anywhere.

Crawling out into fresh air, he was met by a weary Dean. Harrison shook him off and shut the back door roughly. The metal slam shattered any silence in the parking lot. The elder Winchester visibly cringed at the sound.

"Hey, watch the car!"

Another moan.

"Jesus, are you always like this?"

They were walking towards a room Sam had just disappeared inside. To Harrison he felt like he was being marched. Any second now and he was certain Dean was going to grab him by the scruff of his neck and toss him onto the time out chair.

"Am I always like what?"

"You just whine a lot…"

"Sam, whines a lot! I just get mad."

"Whatever, dude. I just want to sleep. Like I'd steal the car, anyway."

"Well, if you don't care where you sleep you can have the floor."

It was Harrison's turn to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Not you. Come on Uncie Dean, you can read me a story before tucking me in."

Harrison forced a wide grin and crossed the threshold. His head felt heavy and his limbs ached. There was a bed smell that just seemed to seep out of the walls. He noticed water stains on the purple shag. He noticed the purple shag and his stomach churned. Purple shag? Come on, really?

He made his way to the back of the room; swiping the duvet from the first bed and a pillow off the second. There was a tight little corner at the back, made by the wall and bed stand. Silently he dropped his stolen items, gave them a keep kicks to get them in the position he wanted and slid to the floor. On the ground the smell was only worse but he was so tired, he didn't care anymore. He pulled the blanket up and around his shoulders. The stiff pillow wedge beneath his head. Sam and Dean were talking in low voices, kicking and moving their own stuff around. He heard a weapons bag drop unceremoniously to the floor. Minutes later the shower was running and the bed next to him was shifting. Springs squelched beneath the new weight.

Harrison let his eyes drift shut and listened to the light breathing of the hunter next to him. He wasn't sure whose it was, but it was relaxing. It gave him that same feeling he'd had inside the Chevy on the way over. He wasn't worried about having to look behind his back every few seconds. He could sleep in peace, even if it was on a purple shag carpet.


	4. Chapter 4: Perchance to Dream

**A/N:**_ Well I'm back from my short break. I'm not sure where this story is going, most of this I just write when I sit down soooo bare with me. Hopefully it all comes together to make sense. I've got a bit of an idea but well, we will see where this goes. It's going to pick up with action soon. And pay attention because there are some little things I will drop here and there._

**Thanks for the wonderful reviews. The feedback has been very encouraging. So please, keep it coming. And hope you enjoy the new installment.**

**Disclaimer:** _Don't own a thing except Harrison. That's right, there is something I own. Ha!_

**The Winchester Effect**

**_By: Babyhilts_**

Chapter 4: Perchance to Dream

_Blood. Too much blood. Soaked upholstery. Red splotches; sanguine handprints smeared along the dash. The Impala was silent. Engine no longer running. Shadowed in darkness; her insides raped by death. Her windows fogged over in an awful pink. Dying flesh; rotting on her bench seat. Waiting for the worms or fire. For the release of the far more damaged soul inside.  
_

_Harrison pounded fisted hands against the steering wheel. Hot tears of frustration escaped the faГade. He prodded the injury in his left shoulder. Flinched for a mere moment and then that was it. He put up the mask. Bit back the pain and swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. His stomach churned with unreleased emotions and he did not care.  
_

_The young hunter threw open the door. He slammed it shut. The metal slap doing nothing to calm the storm raging inside. He wished to punch through the glass. To form dents along the Chevy's frame with the toe of his boot. His heart ached for some form of release. The bitter reality set in as he peered into the back seat. There would be no release. None but the fire.  
_

_He pulled the corpse from the back. A wounded captain; dead. Destroyed in life and killed in battle. He tugged the weight of muscle and flesh and carried it across his shoulder. Pain bit into him but he pushed through.  
_

_Darkness above and all around. He stumbled through the night, towards the open field. Nothing but seeds and upturned earth. A farmer's field. Far from the back road and past the sights of men. No one to watch. A silent funeral of smoke and embers. That was how he'd want it.  
_

_Harrison lay the body along the ground. Careful, as to not disturb it anymore. He set out back towards the woods. He made a few dozen trips. Carrying with him logs and dried moss. Twigs and leaves and the earths deadened surface back across the field. He piled it high. A mountain of oak limbs and grass. A throne for the dead. A homemade crematorium. _

_Without a word he lifted the corpse and laid it atop. He covered him in a blanket of moss and forest flooring. He doused his body in gasoline until he was thoroughly covered. And when his hair went limp and stuck to his placid face Harrison knew it was time. The match struck and lit and with a jump back he set the corpse aflame._

_ A whoosh rang out through the field. The flames climbed the mountain he'd made. Burning flesh fingered the air and enveloped the young Winchester. He stared, caught by the crackle of bones, baking in the heat. The fire grew and slowly the tears came again._

_  
Embers shot to the sky above. The wood crisped as the clothes singed. Skin broiled black and turned to ash. Harrison gazed into the flames and stood defiantly as ever. Crying without sound and choking on his inability to keep it in. He stood, wrapped in the cool August winds. Listening to the snapping of branches beneath the onslaught of fire. _

_He stood, watching as his father was taken from him. The finality setting in as the smoke billowed in grey wisps over the field. His captain and friend; gone forever._

* * *

Harrison startled awake. Eyes wide; body tense he sat, erect and ready. He rubbed the film of sleep from his eyes and took in his surroundings. They were foreign. Unfamiliar to him until he lay his gaze towards the left; to a small, rundown motel. Her neon sign extinguished with the rise of a new day. 

The hunter rubbed the feeling back into his legs. Stiff and aching beneath the heavy jeans. He searched the area from his seated position. His mind was slowly putting things together but they made not a lick of sense to him.

How had he made it out into the parking lot? Sleepwalking again? It had been a problem for the last few years. Every now and then he'd find himself in someplace other than when he'd fallen asleep. It didn't happen too often. Just after turning twenty two it had occurred. He chopped it up to not dealing with his father's death years earlier. It wasn't unusual for him not to deal. He'd been having the nightmares, reliving that moment in time whenever he closed his eyes.

His legs felt strong enough to stand on after a few minutes. Harrison eased himself to his feet. A familiar growl sounded from the entrance to the lot. Across the desert of asphalt he spotted it. Sleek, black metal edging towards him. The Chevy purred as she slowed.

Harrison backed out of the parking space for the Impala. It gladly accepted. The young man waited. The engine cut off and the driver side door opened. Sam Winchester stepped into the pale light of dawn, cradling a package of donuts and three coffees. He recognized the boy from the night before standing quiet and still outside his door.

Harrison took the tray from Sam before he dropped them all over the cement. He watched the boy, -his father- close the door and lock it up. The young hunter could almost smell the smoke from his dream permeating from Sam. He stared at the young man and tried to imagine his father's face. How serene he appeared even death. He could see his father somewhere in Sam and yet at times all he saw was a boy. Innocence shrouded in doubt and fear. This wasn't the father he knew. The father he trusted with his life.

"You okay?"

Harrison whirled around. Sam was but a foot away, clutching a package of pastries to his chest. He had that searching look in his eyes. One that saw through facades and masks.

"Peachy."

The two made their way back to the motel. Neither speaking a word to the other. Dean was waiting, half awake and mostly asleep. Leaning against the headboard of the bed, crumpled sheets around his waist and a pillow beneath his chin. He turned at the sound of the door opening.

"How was the father/son picnic?"

"What?" Sam set the donuts on the nightstand. "Dean..."

"Well it must have been something big. I wake up and find you both gone?"

Harrison snorted disbelievingly. "Want us to call a babysitter next time?"

"You watch it, bud."

"Dean, I just went to get breakfast" soothed Sam the negotiator.

"And him?"

"I have a name" snapped the young hunter. "You might want to learn it."

"Harrison was asleep when I left."

"So, mind explaining where you went, kiddo?"

Harrison dropped the coffees next to the donuts. He refused to acknowledge Dean as he stepped across the room. Picking up the duvet from the night before and folding it into a neat square. In the backdrop he could hear the sharp squeak of bed springs and the muttered stream of curses to follow.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

A brown head of unruly curls whipped around.

"It's none of your business Uncie Dean. So cut out."

The eldest Winchester looked fit to be tied. He grounded his teeth together to hold back the profanity because the kid was still, Sam's son. Or so said the journal and the boy.

"I'll 'cut out' when I damn well want to. And as long as you're riding in my car and as long as I-don't-trust-you, you won't keep shit from me."

Harrison smirked.

"You think so, huh? Well, kiss-my-tan-ass. I ain't telling you a damn thing."

The hunters stood, quiet and backs rigid for a moment. Sam felt suffocated with all the male testosterone fighting for dominance. This wasn't the best way to wake up to a new day, that was for sure.

"Coffee?"

Sam grabbed a Styrofoam cup and pushed it into his brother's hands. He went to gather another for Harrison but he was already moving towards the bathroom.

"No thanks Sam" he called, voice calm. Almost as though the disagreement between him and Dean had never occurred.

"Where do you think you're going?" his brother snapped. Sam shot him a look but it was ignored.

"Bathroom. Want to come and hold my hand?"

Harrison slammed the door; the wood thudding and echoing through the quiet room. Dean's face pinched disgustedly. He tore the bag of donuts open, pushing chocolate glaze and Boston creams about with unwashed hands until he found the jelly filled.

"You know, you could be a bit more accepting."

Sam took a seat across from his brother. He sipped his coffee and listened as the shower ran from behind the door. Dean tensed and took another savage bite from the pastry. Purple filling shot out and hit the carpet. Camouflaged with the purple shag, he made no attempt to wipe it clean.

"He's cocky" came the mouth filled reply. "He's a smart mouthed little brat."

"Dean, he doesn't trust us."

The hunter shook his head.

"Doesn't want to get to know us, Sammy."

"You don't know that. He's just scared. He's in a strange place, how would you feel."

"He could tell us the truth. Where he went. He could be possessed for all we know."

Sam smirked. "And the journal?"

"A trick."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Yup, and not one day of College."

"Just...try to be a bit nicer okay? Until we figure out what's going on."

Silence.

"Dean?"

"Fine."

From the bathroom, the two brothers found Harrison standing. Towel wrapped about his waist, dripping water on the carpet. A small puddle forming about his feet. Dean found his eyes wandering skeptically along the young man's chest. Scars; white abrasions along his otherwise brown flesh. Purpled bruises across his ribs; painful memories with each marking.

"Hey, Sam. You wouldn't have some clothes I could borrow would ya? Mine are kinda scraps now."

"Hmm, sure."

As he picked a dark blue t-shirt from his bag and an old pair of jeans, Dean continued to watch. Sizing up this new kid. Harrison could feel the gaze but instead of speaking out of turn, he shut his mouth and acted stupid. He didn't want to upset him anymore than he had. Besides, Dean was family after all and he wanted to gain his trust eventually. Were their places switched he'd have acted just as his uncle had. Perhaps even worse. Trust was something that took a lot of time to acquire when you were a hunter.

Sam handed him the fresh pair of clothes. Harrison grabbed his own, soiled garments from the tiled floor and made the switch.

"Thanks" he said.

The door closed and he was gone again. Dean took a deep gulp of caffeine. The hot liquid burning a trail down his throat. A few long strides across purple shag and he was before his brother, snatching the clothes from Sam's hands. He held them out, inspecting the bloodied knee of the jeans and the rips in the fabric. The Levis hit Sam in the chest as Dean realized he was done with them. Next he held the t-shirt. Grabbing the short sleeves and spreading it out before him. The center, towards the stomach was caked in dark brown. The dried blood spread out across the material and through to the other side.

Sam's attention was caught and he ventured to his brother's side. His hand wandered towards the shirt. He fingered the stain and it broke in brown flags onto the floor. More fingering and he'd peeled most of the crust away to reveal the cut. The slash in the cotton that had inflicted the lethal blow.

Winchester brothers shared a nervous look. The bathroom door opened and out stepped Harrison. He grinned, looking down at his new outfit, giving no notice to the two men staring at his old shirt.

"These clothes aren't too bad. Fit good too."

No one answered him. Harrison tensed and brought his attention to his family. Studying his t-shirt and now, himself. He looked to the bloodied stain. The one he hadn't noticed until he'd pulled his jacket off.

"Are you hurt?" Dean's voice was thick.

Of course the kid wasn't hurt. Had he been stabbed like this he'd be dead. Would have bled out for sure. Stomach wounds like this one were serious. The kid would not be standing it he'd been injured that badly.

"I'm fine."

"What..."Sam swallowed the bile, "what is this?"

"A shirt?"

Dean's eyes bulged at the attempt at humor. Harrison recovered quickly.

"I told you. I was hunting a demon before I ended up here."

"And this?" Dean shook the shirt. "This was the outcome?"

"Before I time skipped, yeah. Guess because I went back to before that happened it reversed or something. Look I don't do all that time and space junk. I hunt okay?"

Sam hesitated. "You could have died Harrison."

"But I didn't."

Another hesitation. The silence spread like a vicious plague taking the three men with it. Sam was shifting anxiously, searching for the words to say something more. Harrison tensed. Dean seemed unaware of it all. His hands clenched and unclenched around the bloodied fabric but that was all. Sam eyed the youngest Winchester searchingly. That gaze boring through him. Fingering his very core, looking for answers.

"Where was I?"

Dean's head snapped to attention and nearly broke clean off. Harrison was stiff as a pole. All eyes were on him. He could feel Sam looking through him. Trying to piece together the truth to his questions. Harrison could admit that he knew nothing of space and time. He didn't understand theories or any of that scientific garbled junk. What he did know and what he was damn sure of was that letting Sam know the truth would not be good. Whether it affected the future in some horrible way, he wasn't sure. He just knew that he couldn't tell him that the reason he wasn't there to have his back was because he'd been dead for four years.

"Harrison?"

Sam's eyes were pleading.

"I can't."

"Can't what?" came the innocence he didn't recognize. He didn't want to hear it.

"I just can't Sam! Jesus, I can't."

Harrison pushed through the wall of Winchesters. He exited the motel; away from his father and uncle. He had to get away from the questions. The room was stifling with it all. He didn't want to take away the innocence he heard in Sam. There wasn't much left but what remained was more than what had ever been in his father. He wanted to keep Sam safe even though it wasn't his job. He just didn't want to have that same ruling father. Maybe he could make it better for him in the future by keeping Sam's innocence protected. Maybe that would keep him safe from death.

Harrison dug fists into his jeans pockets and walked the perimeter of the parking lot. He had to get a grip on the emotions daring to surface. He had to keep his walls up, even more so with Sam around. There was no way he would let Sam find out the truth of his death. But what of Dean's? His Uncle was dead as well. Not that he'd experienced it, but his father had relayed enough information to him to screw up Dean's future as well.

The young hunter cursed the barren blacktop. He had to get a handle on things soon. Before things got screwed up again and he had both not a past and future to go back to.


	5. Chapter 5: Chit Chat

**A/N:** _So, not hope this update was soon enough. I'm doing a bit of moving around and am busy but I'll keep these up as frequently as possible. The story is still a bit slow for my liking and this chapter was not one of my most favourite, but hopefully you all like it. More fun stuff on the way. Promise. The action is coming._

_And thank you all for the wonderful reviews. They help encourage me to write even when I don't feel like it. So keep them coming and I appreciate all the support._

**Disclaimer:** _I only own Harrison and this story and that's enough for me. Unless Kripke decides to sell then I change my mind_.

**The Winchester Effect**

**_By: Babyhilts_**

Chapter 5: Chit Chat

Cigarettes. They dropped through the vending machine. Harrison had only gone back to the motel room to take some money from Dean's wallet. He'd been in the shower. Sam on the bed, laptop across his knees. Neither had spoken a word and that was how Harrison wanted it.

Outside, pack of Marlboros in hand; he made the walk across the parking lot. Pacing two and fro like an expecting father to be. He popped a cigarette in his mouth and struck the match along the sole of his boot. Tar, tobacco, nicotine and every cancer causing agent calmed his nerves. Soothing them while inflicting their damage upon his lungs. What did he care if down the line he got lung cancer? He was fit to work the field of hunting and knew it would be a miracle if he lived long enough to develop even a rash from smoking.

Harrison was three minutes into his next cigarette. Back leaning alongside the motel brick. Eyes closed, savoring the peace. It was a thick, callused hand slapping his own that shook him from his reverie.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Slowly, almost methodically, Harrison opened his eyes. Dean stood, seething with a towel slung across his back. He was fully clothed but it must have been in a rush. Water ran from where it had not been dried. His hair soaked and dripping onto the cement. Dripping on his fallen cigarette.

"What did it look like?"

Harrison took out the pack and fished out another smoke. It had barely grazed his fingers when it was snatched. Crumbled and torn, it fell in a shredded mess onto his boots.

"Damn it, what's your deal?"

"Are you some kind of an idiot" Dean was shouting. "I know my brother isn't so I don't know. I'm trying to piece together how the two of you are related."

"Piss off."

Harrison went to walk away but a hand pulled him back. Dean's hand.

"No, you don't get off like that. Not anymore."

Fire blazed behind the younger man's eyes. Iris' aflame, he shoved the offending hands away. The strength was enough to send Dean stumbling backwards, fighting for the ability to stay upright. When he caught his footing, Harrison was further away, staring him down.

"We may be related but you don't get to push me around. I'm not a kid! I have free will. If I want a damn cigarette then I'll have one. And if I want to smoke the whole goddamn pack I'll do it!"

The whole scene was surreal. As he listened to the young hunter, ranting and raving; Marlboros waving their protest in the air, he was reminded of the rebellious side to Sam. The night his young brother had left. All the nights before that when he'd fought for school plays, for sports teams, for a normal life. This shorter, cockier version of Sam was something to marvel at.

"What are you just standing there for?" the boy was shouting. "Are you some kind of an idiot?"

Dean's words were thrown back in his face and instead of acting on emotion. Instead of taking the kid down a few pegs, he smiled. A sly grin that worked its way across his face.

"Let's go."

"Where…"

"We're taking a walk." Harrison didn't move. "That's an order."

The words seemed to strike a cord inside the young man. His back stood erect. Brown eyes glazed over with past memories. As Dean took the lead down the silent highway, Harrison fell into line behind.

Ten minutes of silence faded into thirty. The soft glow of the rising sun broke upon the sky in a dark yoke. Oozing across the tapestry of lush pinks and purples; orange heat upon them, adding to their misery. Harrison kicked a pebble just to keep from lashing out. Sweat lingering on his forehead, the salty buildup on his upper lip. The shirt Sam had given him acting as a sponge. He clenched his teeth and dragged his sneaker across the stones. Gravel sputtering across the asphalt. Hitting Dean in the calf. Disrupting the peace of morning.

"Is this a walk of death?"

"What?" Dean didn't stop to turn around.

"Are we actually going somewhere? I mean dude, I feel like I've been working on a chain gang all day. Can we stop?"

"Sarcasm doesn't win friends over."

"You're just family, so it doesn't matter."

The march ended. Dean turned to face Harrison. Hazel eyes hidden behind a wall of uncertainty; hands fingering the cotton of the motel towel. The elder hunter seemed to be preparing himself. Taking the time to think things over one last time.

"Look kid. I believe who you say you are."

"How come I don't buy that?"

"Because you're a stubborn ass" Dean smirked "and a Winchester."

"So, what now? Do we hug or something?"

"Stop with the jokes. Just for a minute okay? You can play the tough guy bullshit with Sammy all you want but right now, I have get some things out of you."

Harrison halted. His mouth felt unreasonably dry and that itch from the night before had somehow managed to creep in again. Every instinct told him to bolt. Get the hell outta Dodge. Make for the hills. All that Great Escape, Steve McQueen garbage. Unfortunately for him he wasn't Steve McQueen. He couldn't just steal a motorcycle and beat it out of there and hope for the best. Especially not with Dean Winchester standing in his way.

"What did you want to know?"

It had to done sooner or later. The dark haired man pulled out another cigarette. Dean didn't comment this time. An unspoken agreement had taken place. So long as he answered the hunters questions no one's head would get kicked in.

"Why did you take off back there?"

"I had to" he took a drag. Dean sighed.

"Why wasn't Sam there?"

Harrison knew what he was being asked. Understood in that one moment where these questions were going and he didn't like it. They were getting dangerously close to what he feared. He couldn't loose this now. Not his only remaining family.

"Why was he where?"

"Harrison answer the questions."

Avoidance wasn't working. Harrison sucked thoughtfully on his Marlboro. He flicked the dead embers to the rocky ground. He knew he wasn't getting out of this. He had to come clean.

"He couldn't."

"He couldn't what?"

"He couldn't have my back because he'd been dead for four years."

Harrison finished the cigarette and tossed it to the curb. He was fumbling for his pack before the tip had extinguished. Fingers wrapping about another cancer stick, he lit and breathed in. Tasting the nicotine; savoring the calm. He numbed himself for the emotions forcing their way through his system. Instead of facing Dean, he turned his attention to the winding highway.

"Sam…was dead?"

Harrison nodded. Silence reigned and he took a puff. He forced the mask of hunter and cool façade into place.

"How?"

"A hunt in Colorado. Possessed gravedigger. Full fledge demon up inside that mother."

He took a drag.

"Was doing some sort of satanic mumbo jumbo. Pop's didn't like it. We tried to trap him, exorcise the demon but things just went bad from the start."

Harrison's eyes glazed. He felt the cold chill of nostalgia run up his spine. Nostalgia was supposed to be warm, fuzzy all through your stomach. For him it always left him numb. Horror stricken and dreams tainted with nightmares.

He took a drag. Blew smokes towards the sky.

"What happened Harrison?"

"Dad said it was a binding link…"

_Harrison held tight to his father's journal. The winds picked up. Trees bending like contortionists in the wind. Branches falling. Hitting the grass close to where he kneeled. _

_The shadows of his father and the gravedigger lingered on the tombstones. A freshly dug grab, lined with tall, lit candles. The pale light illuminated the two men. One possessed by vengeance, the other a demon. _

_Sam Winchester stepped in and brought a thick arm around his opponent's neck. From Harrison's position he could see the chock hold. Watch the man with black eyes fall to his knees. The fight was far from over. _

_"Harrison, get in the game!"_

_The order was like a slap. An instinct driven into him at young age that he followed obediently. The young man pulled the journal beneath the glow of his flashlight. He'd much rather preferred to be the one doing the fighting but at nineteen he didn't have as much experience under his belt. Not when compared to the great Sam Winchester._

_Latin spouted fluently from his mouth. Pronunciation down without flaw. Harrison lifted his gaze from the page, the words fresh on his tongue. He caught his father struggling to hold the man. He twisted him. Pulling his head into his chest before driving him against the grass. Face making contact with the soiled earth._

_The young hunter kept reading. He had less than half a page to finish; to send the demon back to hell when things started to turn. _

_A hollow cry filled the air. The winds turned once again. Harrison lifted his eyes from the page. He could sense his father's mistake before he saw it. The body of his hero, sailing through the air; hitting the cemetery carpet ten feet from him. _

_Why wasn't this working? He read the ritual the way he'd been taught. It was engraved inside him. He could recite without the journal if need be. _

_"Dad!"_

_Harrison ignored the thoughts. Ignored the gravedigger trudging through the shadows. He ran to his father. His fallen hero. _

_"Dad are you…"_

_The elder man shifted onto his back. Grass stained the left side of his face. Mingled with blood from a cut above his eye. Sam combed the dirt from his beard. His eyes fell to his son. Running for him. To hell him._

_"No. Get the demon."_

_"The ritual isn't working…"_

_"It's a binding link. Remember what I taught you."_

_Sam was on his feet as he shouted orders. The weather had gotten worse. The flames of the candles teetered on the edge of extinguishing. He could see the man, possessed and making his way towards him. Sam's bag was between him and the demon and if Harrison and him had any chance of getting the hunt done right, they were going to need it._

_The demon understood where Sam's mind was at. Saw the brown iris' flicker towards the duffel. He could almost hear the thoughts of desperation and hope racing through the hunters mind. _

_A sly grin combed across his lips. Chapped and dry, they parted maliciously. Sam halted in his race. Harrison was somewhere off to his left but he couldn't see him. He saw the smiled and the demon. The eyes darken and then his feet leave ground. Tumbling through air once again._

_When Sam's back hit the rough bark of an oak, Harrison didn't shout. He kept his mouth clenched. Bit his tongue and searched his coat pocket. His hands grazed the smooth body of a flask. Holy water wasn't the best but it was his only weapon at the moment. He'd seen his father run for the bag. Knew what he'd been after but it was still between him and the demon. _

_Harrison drew the flask from his pocket and had the lid off within seconds. He zigzagged between rows of tombstones. The gravedigger had let his guard down. Attention away from the youngest and now on Sam. Harrison took his chance and picked his moment. As the demon went to speak, the young hunter assaulted the man with deadly liquid._

_Agonized screams cut through the silence. The force pinning Sam to the tree released him. Harrison watched as the smoke erupted from the burns along the man's back. He sprayed him again and the screams increased._

_Sam ran past his son. Ran for the duffel bag just ten feet away. His hands latched onto the stiff material. Pulling the zipper and nearly tearing it off in the process. He found the silver dagger and the lighter. _

_Harrison raised the flask once more. One final wave of holy water to still the beast before his father arrived. It seemed like a sensible idea until the blow came. Unexpected by the young man. He toppled backwards. The flask slipped from his hands and into the shadows._

_"You and your daddy are going to regret this."_

_Harrison made to get back on his feet. He'd caught his wind, was ready for a fight. Instead he found himself slipping. Breaking the laws of gravity and tumbling through the air. He shouted a warning cry. Not because he was scared for his safety but to his father. To keep him safe._

* * *

_He never saw his father die. Never saw the final blow that claimed his life. Or if his father suffered for minutes or hours after the blow had stricken him._

_When Harrison woke the cemetery was quiet. The trees remained still and the glow from the candles was dimming. The wicks hunched over from exhaustion. Wax bodies deflated and oozing into the open grave._

_The young hunter brought a shaky hand to his head. He touched the tender flesh at the back. Where his hair had matted with blood, caking over the wound. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. To bring himself to understand how he'd arrived in the cemetery and figure out what had happened._

_His head and shoulder both ached. His left arm hung limp at his side. Jerked from its socket, he let it hang for a moment longer. He had to let his mind wrap around what was going on before anything else. _

_Experiencing helped in such moments. In a matter of seconds it all rushed back. The hunt and the reason to which his head now ached. He took in his surroundings once again and discovered no grave digger. His eyes caught the journal not far from him and as he walked past he pocketed it. _

_A deep breath. Try to relax his nerves. He eyes the cemetery. Took in the trees, the tombstones and then the hill. The pile of clothing and flesh resting motionless on the earth. He hadn't seen it before. It was something new. Something new and yet all too familiar._

_Harrison was running before he even knew he was running. His knees buckled and gave way at the body. The blood. There was so much blood there. Too much blood._

_Hand unsteady he turned the body over. The blood was all consuming. It flowed from the wound in his stomach. Other injuries marred his hero but none as serious as this. _

_The dagger protruded from his torso. It made Harrison sick to his stomach but he refused to turn away. He hesitated before bringing his hand to his father's neck. He searched for a pulse that he would not find._

_"Dad?"_

_He called to the corpse that would not answer._

_Harrison bit back a cry. The tears broke free and he clenched his right hand about one of his father's. Gripping the fingers that were slick with blood. How had this happened?_

_"I'm sorry…I should have done something…dad I…I should have tried harder…"_

"He bled out" Harrison's voice sounded far away.

His hands were steady as they drew his third cigarette towards his lips. Moments earlier they'd been shaking and he'd tried to cover it. His eyes were swollen with unspilt tears.

"I dragged his body out to a field a few hours later. Burnt his corpse and that was it."

Dean had to calm his own nerves before he could say anything. He tried to keep his heart under control because it was threatening to break through his chest cavity with it's rapid beating. His Sam was alive right now but the mere though of that having happened, of him not being there to help stop something like that brought him to the edge.

"Harrison, why wasn't I with you two?"

The boy's eyes darkened.

"I can't tell you that Dean. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to ruin what I have right now. If I tell you your fate it may have some bad effects in the future. Or it may not" he took a drag "either way I can't answer that one."

"Is that why you took off? To save Sam?"

"He shouldn't know" was all the kid said.

Dean understood. The guy didn't to jeopardize anything else. He could also understand that opening himself up the way he'd done was a rare occurrence. The mask had chipped just slightly but it was enough for the elder hunter to peek inside. See what made Harrison tick.

He wasn't going to push it anymore. He didn't need to know about himself. Dean wasn't even sure if he wanted to know what lay ahead for him in the future. When Harrison said 'your fate' it felt a little too ominous for his liking. But he had to know a few more things while the moment was right.

"Is it safe to ask a few more questions?"

"Shoot."

"What about your family? Sam's I mean. Does he have a wife? Are there more kids?"

"Just me" Harrison said. "No one else."

"What about your mom?"

"Burnt up."

"What do you mean, 'burnt up'?"

"When I was six months she burnt up. Pinned to the ceiling in my nursery. That's why dad got back in the hunting game. Revenge."

"Revenge on what?"

"The red eyed son of a bitch that killed my mother."

Dean's head was spinning. The conversation had suddenly turned into some sort of sick rerun of his own childhood. He eyed Harrison with his dark hair and Sammy like figure. He was the rough and tumble version of his younger brother. No innocence but lots of smarts, standing there, telling him that in some twisted future he looses everything.

No wonder the kid wanted to stay. No wonder he didn't want to ruin things.

"Just like our mom."

Harrison nodded.

"Dad used to talk about it. Said you guys killed that demon though."

Dean paled. "We killed it?"

Harrison tossed his cigarette. He shot a panicked glance towards the way they'd come. He couldn't answer anymore questions. He had to get back to the motel room.

"I can't answer anymore."

"What?"

"I shouldn't have told you that…"

"Whoa, relax Jr…"

Harrison's head snapped around. "I could be putting everything at risk just by being here, so don't try and tell me to relax!"

The younger man grumbled and cursed his way back down the highway. The short moment of bonding between uncle and future nephew forgotten as they reached the motel.


	6. Chapter 6: Restless Nights

**A/N:** _So, I've got another chapter up! I'm trying to move the story along because I'm starting to gather a plot around Harrison but in order to get to the main action of that plot I have to stick in some clues and other information. And I figure I'll throw in some action while we learn about Harrison. So, hope this hasn't moved too fast. I'm easing into some action with this chapter and over the next few ones the boys will face their first challenge. Just keep in mind there is a bigger, more important part later to come, this is just to keep you guys from getting bored. Enjoy! And please let me know what you think, because I love it!_

_P.S. Thank you everyone for all the wonderful reviews. It's what makes me update so fast so keep em coming._

_P.P.S. There was going to be more on this chapter but I have neglected my chores so that means another update will be up shortly. Within a day or two :D_

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own anything but Harrison._

**The Winchester Effect**

**_By: Babyhilts_**

Chapter 6: Restless Nights

**Moonglow, California**

**June 24, 2006**

The lingering terror of tainted dreams made the hunter's pulse race. He sat rigid, wiping away remnants of sleep. Harrison fought to calm the thrashing of his heart. Panic churned the pizza and Fritos still settling in his stomach from the night before.

Darkness hovered, soft and fading around him. A few more hours and the sun crawl to the surface of azure and cottons of white. For now the night remained and Harrison struggled to understand why he was sitting in the middle of it all.

Brushing moist palms along the ground he discovered not carpet but tarmac. Rough heated gravel still warm with the torturous heat of the June sun. As his eyes grew akin to the ebony walls he found himself far from the comfort of the less than stellar motel room.

Crickets played to the tune of hot summer nights; their soft chirp echoing through the dark. An accompaniment of Ford's, Oldsmobile's, Chevy's and the like shattered whatever silence remained; trekking down the nearby highway, located in the unseen distance.

The faint glow of neon lights arose from the black. Harrison pinpointed the lights to the jade colored sign announcing to tourists and shopaholics that they had reached The Greenville mall. It was at that point the young man spotted the hunched necks of lampposts, sprinkled strategically throughout the parking lot. All of which were closer to the building itself and far away from him.

Left to stumble through the dark, Harrison decided to make his way home. He vaguely remembered passing through that part of town. Although the mall hadn't been a standout landmark, he could picture it in his mind. Draw a mental map and calculate the direction to take from his current position to the motel.

Although sweat created an extra layer atop his back, he was thankful for the t-shirt and jeans. Admittedly he'd felt more than a bit ridiculous when he'd gone to sleep in his daywear. Sam's jeans weren't the most comfortable when going to bed. Jeans in general shouldn't be worn for anything other than hunting and flirting in. And by flirting he meant a stop at the bar ended with a good lay.

However, although uncomfortable and picking up some slack from Dean about it, he'd gone through with his plan. After waking up in odd places during the previous nights he decided it had to be done. Of course, the places were not so far away from the motel. Outside the room door or passed out in the drivers seat of the Impala, both were better and less disconcerting than waking up in the mall parking lot, twenty minutes away.

Harrison knew that his stress levels weren't at their high. He hadn't felt so relieved in years. He had his old man back, whether it was in the form of a man the same age as him it didn't matter. He was back. Add to that the uncle he never met and things were going great. Two trained hunters to have his back. What more could he ask for? Except maybe to be rid of his sleepwalking.

No, if anything he was overjoyed. High on life and all that cliché goodness everyone seems to spout when their happy. However, he just seemed to pull an impression of the walking dead every other night, regardless of his state of mind. This was unsettling because up until recently he'd chopped it up to stress. Now that there was none it grew worse. It didn't make any sense.

Dean was catching on. Twice he'd found Harrison somewhere other than the cot or the floor. The hardest to explain had been the other morning when he awoke to the pounding of fists on the Chevy's glass window. Dean had this rabid animal look about him. Standing there in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, staring through the glass like a child at a zoo. He seemed intrigued at first and then anger washed over him in waves. Harrison couldn't figure it out. Didn't understand how he'd gotten there until he unlocked the door and found his uncles hands fisted around his collar.

Dean went on a scream. Shouting with spittle flying; rage dousing the air like gasoline to a corpse before a routine salt and burn. Through all the yelling he only made out the words "horny punk" "going at it" and "soiled upholstery." Harrison was ready to fly off handle himself. The older man's hands had moved to his arms; enforcing enough strength to bruise the thick buildup of muscle. Just when he was ready to throw a punch the younger man looked down. Discovered himself clad only in his boxers. Without a t-shirt or pants, close to naked in the parking lot. He realized how it must have looked. So he came up with some lie about the bed being uncomfortable. Dean didn't buy it but he let it be known that if he found Harrison asleep in the car again there'd be blood.

Back to the current situation and the current problem and how it all came together. It seemed only that more troublesome for Harrison when he entered the room and found the keys lying atop Dean's jacket. The door has been locked and he remembered because just before Dean went into verbal karate mode, he'd had to unlock the door.

All in all things weren't looking very promising. If there hadn't been any stress of late, there sure as hell was some on the rise. Sleepwalking he could deal with but breaking through locked cars while unconscious? That took talent even he didn't possess.

Harrison walked the stretch of highway back to the motel. Fifteen minutes into it he came upon a convenient store. Not so conveniently tucked away from the highway. He was itching for a cigarette. Although he figured five minutes more and he'd be back at the motel where he had half a pack remaining, he just wanted one in the moment. A nice cancer stick to signal the start of a new day. Besides his caffeine levels were at an all time low and if he was planning on staying up for the rest of the day -which at that point he was- he'd need to reboot.

The young man picked his way over gravel. Sharp, protruding rocks picking at the soles of his feet before he found the door. Two vehicles, an old busted pickup truck, half coated in black and the remainder in rust and a red Jetta sat parked beside one another. Harrison wondered why anyone would be out that late. Condomless couples in need of a pit stop? Maybe a couple of teens with the munchies? He didn't know and after another minute, he didn't care.

He scoffed the No shirt, No shoes, No service sign and entered the building. He was aware of a bell ringing. The startling glare of the sodium lights to his eyes a moment to become acquainted with.

Easing through the dance of red and green spots the forms of chip racks and an old Pac Man machine began to take shape. He made his way across the cool linoleum. The stale touch of conditioned air against his skin was a gentle relief from what awaited outside.

Behind the front counter a girl with light brown curls and wide eyes to match, stood erect. One hand fingered a page in her Cosmopolitan while the other seemed poised on something beneath the counter. An emergency alert button?

Although desperate for a smoke but never one to turn down a pretty face, Harrison shifted direction and made a beeline for the brunette. He followed her gaze towards the back of the store. To where a group of four or five, none too teenage like, stood around the coolers. They were rowdy and cursing a storm. No wonder the kid was shaken up.

"Marlboros."

The girl jumped. Her head whipped around. Startled from her fantasies of a possible robbery and having to call the cops. She was clearly frazzled and perhaps even a bit flaky. He knew this because his eyes couldn't help but fall upon the page in her magazine. The bold lettering that offered females tips on how to pick up the man of your dreams. Expensive kindling, he thought.

"Sorry, what was that?" her voiced shook as the words fought to be heard.

Harrison gave her his best, good guy grin.

"Marlboros, please." The girl nodded and fingered through the brands stacked behind the counter. "You guys wouldn't have any coffee here, would you?"

She came back with his cigarettes. Hands only slightly unsteady as she set them on the counter. Her face broke into a smile, genuine despite the increase of noise from the back.

"The coffee here isn't all that great. You'd just be wasting three dollars."

"An honest woman. I like that."

The brunette looked about ready to jump him right there. Harrison couldn't resist the sly, player smirk that tainted his lips. Were she to jump he didn't think he'd put up much of a fight. He wondered what could make such a cute girl so hard up.

As the blush began to recede, the girl's attention flicked back to the group near the coolers. Harrison followed, making it seem as though it had been the first time he'd heard them.

"They giving you a hard time?"

Her eyes fell on him once more. Alight with the prospect of a possible fight and maybe the chance of man defending her honor? Who knows. She was looking at him almost the same way that Dean had. Hungry, animal like but in a different sense.

"A bit. We're use to it now."

"What this happens often?"

"Since about a month or two ago, yeah."

Suddenly the geek in Harrison awoke. He had his mental post-it note system on and ready. His attention was grabbed and being held. Something about all this sounded oddly akin to a hunt in the making. And he'd be damned if he let a hunt get away.

"Why? What happened a month ago?"

"Nothing much really."

Her eyes glazed. She held them with his own, as if soaking him in. He wanted to slap her or shake her because he didn't much care how lonely she was or how desperately she needed a man. That was Cosmos job. Hunting evil was his.

"Not much except…"

"Except a bunch of college kids on summer break. Looking for a small town to hold up in until school starts I guess."

"They party a lot?"

"I don't know" she gave him this weird look. "I guess. There's been a few reports of noise and stuff from other people. Why are you asking so many questions? Are you a cop or something?"

"Just worried that's all."

"Worried?"

Harrison put on the mastered routine.

"Yeah, a pretty girl like yourself. Seems sorta dangerous that your boss lets you work the late shift with those types of people around."

The girl was eating it up. He could almost hear her brain turn to goo. Although a flake she may be he had to keep her from starting her own investigation.

Her eyes swelled with the anticipation of hearing more dribble when something shattered from the far back. The group of misfits shared a moment of joined laughter. Brunette tensed and subconsciously let her hand fall back into place beneath the counter. Harrison himself tensed because notifying the cops meant giving a report which in turn meant calling unwanted attention on himself and his family.

He was about ready to stop the girl from making any hasty decisions when the group emerged from the stacks of snack food. Two men and three women, carrying what appeared to be a bottle of Jacks and three cases of beer. Party animals indeed.

Harrison stood his ground in front of the counter. He wasn't about to leave and he'd yet to pay for his pack of cigarettes. The group of five seemed to crowd around him. Cornering him against the counter and eyeing him with a look of disbelief.

A manicured hand shot out from the crowd. It made home right in his stomach and the strength behind it was enough to knock him back a few steps. Just enough for one of the men to step into line behind the counter. Harrison fought for balance as they laid their supply of booze under the young woman's nose.

"Watch it, bozos" was all the hunter could come up with.

Staying quiet wasn't an option and stumbling around like an idiot impaired him from coming up with something the least bit witty. A blonde haired woman with colorless skin and chapped red lips pushed through the group. The others hovered, ready to attack. Harrison gathered his footing and made to look a few inches taller, trying his best to intimidate the woman who had managed to sneak a punch. It wouldn't happen again.

"That's no way to talk to a lady."

"Well when I see one around I'll apologize."

Lips curled into a malicious grin. Harrison felt sickened by the look she gave him. Eyeing every inch in a none too sultry way. Her eyes were dark, cold. Emotionless eyes that belonged to someone who could peel the flesh from your bones and forget to flinch. Harrison locked eyes and wanted desperately to flinch.

"Cocky one, aren't you?" she frowned "not very becoming I might add."

"What can I say? Manners aren't my thing."

"Obviously noted."

Harrison held his ground. He was kicking himself for not having fallen asleep with a shotgun or a bowie or even a damn butter knife. Still, he kept ground. Looked her straight in the eyes. He was itching to be somewhere else. Desperate for a cigarette and wishing the coffee at the store didn't suck because he could really use one.

He was vaguely aware of the two men hassling the girl behind the counter. They'd paid for their drinks and were making failed attempts to convince her in joining them. Harrison failed to keep the woman's gaze and turned his attention on the men. He was about to do the gentleman like thing. The whole, "you best be going now" thing seen in all those chick flicks. It was what the hero always did. Unfortunately for Harrison he forgot how unheroic he was. He hated hero's. They always did stupid, selfless things that got themselves killed just to save the idiot who didn't bother to stay outta trouble in the first place. He was a hunter not a hero. There was a difference.

Harrison forgot that difference and had a glimpse of heroism. He turned to help the clerk and found compacted hand in his face. Busting his nose and sending him off balance and ass first on the linoleum. The convenient store spun wild. The hunter grappled for the top of the counter because he was feeling unsteady and the pain in his nose was teetering on sending him unconscious. What kind of chick hit like that?

The group laughed. Short lived it still bruised the hunter's ego and it hurt a bit more than the blow itself. Through the slip sliding of the store, they gathered their things and headed for the exit. As they cackled their way into the parking lot, another woman from the entourage of hoodlums stole a quick glance. Her nose twitched, sniffing the air as if something about it peeked her interested. She eyed the man, holding his nose, his head pointed downward. The familiar shag of brown and the lanky form, hunched on the linoleum. She tasted the air once again and knew for sure.

A coy smile formed on her face and the woman disappeared into the night with the rest of her friends. Certain that what she'd seen and what she'd smelt was what she'd been hunting for the last year.

* * *

Harrison gathered the bundle of tissue paper around his nose. Soggy with blood, he searched for a dry piece. There was none. He found a spot a little less wet than the rest and placed it under his injured snout. Luckily he could see the motel and would have to wait long to clean himself up.

The clerk had been more than upset after the rowdy "supposed college kids" left. She'd been himing and hawing over his busted nose. Running to the bathroom and nearly begging to clean it for him. It was kind of awkward.

He'd accepted the free cigarettes she offered. It was the least she could have done for him. Right? He'd thanked her of course but once the smokes where in his pockets and the tissue was around his nose he was off. He had to hurry back to the motel before either of the Winchester brothers awoke. Answering questions that early in the morning was not on his To Do List.

Things weren't going to be that easy though. Of course not. He was a Winchester and if there was one thing that Winchesters didn't have, that was luck. It just so happened that he had somehow managed to get from the motel and to the city mall without having ever unlocked the room door. It wasn't going to budge. The knob flinched but didn't really turn. It wasn't as though he carried paperclips and bobbypins on him either but he would sure as hell start to when he went to bed. That and a bit of weaponry so he wouldn't end up being jumped by some busty blonde.

Harrison accepted his fate. With a sigh, he freed a hand from his bloodied nose and gave a sharp knock on the door. He heard a moan. He knocked again; harder. Something thudded behind the door. A string of slurred cursing grew louder as feet shuffled towards him. The lock turned and the chain slid out of place.

The young hunter grimaced at the tired glare of Dean Winchester. Mostly asleep, standing in nothing but boxers. Harrison forced a smile that he was sure probably couldn't even be seen from the bundle of tissue on his face. He motioned with his head for his uncle to move out of the way. Paying attention so as not to break the salt lining the door, he stepped across the threshold and headed for the bathroom.

Sam's fitful kicking could be heard through the small room. Mattress squeaking beneath each sharp thrust. He was glad to know that at least someone was still asleep.

Harrison flipped the light on. The door was only partially ajar as to keep from waking up Sam. He tossed the bloodied Kleenex into the garbage bin and eyed the caked blood and stained red around his nose. He rubbed at the crusted brown below his nostrils. Flakes raining down into the sink he made a noise of disgust.

Something slapped the back of the bathroom door. Loud enough to startle Harrison from his inspection, he turned and found Dean standing the doorway. The look on his face proved the he was more awake than he'd been a few seconds earlier and that he was far from being pleased. He eyed Harrison's injury and his mask softened for but a split second. Enough to give the young hunter a second to breathe before his uncle busted into his tirade.

Dean stepped into the bathroom and close the door behind himself.

"What the hell happened?"

Hushed, the voice still managed to convey all the anger that Harrison had become used to. There may have been a slight hint of worry buried beneath it but at the moment it was anger.

"Nothing. Go to bed."

"I was in bed. I was having a nice dream about Pamela Anderson I might add. Until some idiot nephew from the future woke me up."

"Whose Pamela Anderson?"

Dean growled. "Forget it. What happened?"

"Some chick took a swing at me."

The tension eased for a minute. Dean's face lit up with a wide smirk.

"A chick? Sammy didn't teach you to defend yourself when you were a kid?"

Through clenched teeth Harrison said "He taught me just fine. I don't think she was human."

"Harry, don't try and cover for yourself."

"It's Harrison" he seethed.

"Whatever kid. Wash up and get some rest. I'm going to guess you snuck out again tonight?"

"I'm twenty three. I don't have to sneak out. And no, I just went to the corner store. I was out of smokes."

Dean nodded and made to exit the bathroom.

"You know, smoking kills."

"Yeah, so does demon hunting."

"Smart ass" Dean muttered.

The elder hunter closed the door behind him. Deciding to let the kid clean himself up and catch a few more hours of sleep before he really tore into him about the do's and do not's of hunting with Dean Winchester. The first do not being not to go out partying with women and looking for trouble when on a job. When they weren't it would be fine, he'd probably even show the kid a few tricks but until then they had to keep quiet. Focused. God, he was sounding like Sam.

Dean maneuvered through the unlit motel room. Stumbling past the bathroom and stubbing a toe on the metal leg of Harrison's cot. Pain forced him to curse and swing his head back and forth as a way of trying to dispel the agony. It settled after a moment, although the discomfort and throbbing remained.

He kept his eyes peeled as he made his way back to his bed but not before catching his attention on something. Strung across the back chair of the motel room was Harrison's leather jacket. Laying limp and untouched in front of it was a pack of Marlboros. Dean eyed the bathroom door. Still closed he noted. He tentatively grabbed for the cigarettes and flipped open the slit of paper to discover half a pack of neatly rolled cylinders still inside.

Dean eyed the door once more. Realizing Harrison had lied. He wasn't sure about the why, just that the kid had lied and lying happened to be one of his other do not's.

Setting the pack back into place on the chair, he chose to settle this later on in the day. After a good rest and bit of thinking he'd pull him aside and get to the bottom of it. Things over the last five days had been strange to say the least. Finding Harrison asleep in the Impala, curled on the doorstep, in the middle of some nightmare. Strange was putting it all lightly. He'd get it out of Harrison one way or another. He'd have to or the kid wouldn't be riding with him and his brother for much longer.


	7. Chapter 7: The Breakfast Club

**A/N:** Hey, I'm back! Now before you get out your pitchforks and string me up hear me out. I really have no excuse for not updating. I did have some family drama and so on and did move back in August but ya. I'm very busy with school now but I've managed to get updates up before so I will continue. Sorry for the long long long hiatus. Hope you guys are still with me and stick with this. So, for all you who have returned and are reading, please leave a little review and thanks for sticking around :D

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing….wait I own Harrison…booya!

**Dedication:** Okay, so I am dedicating this chapter to all you awesome reviewers who have been enjoying this story. You guys are what makes this story keep going. And special dedication to Ty3 and St0pSmackinMe07 for their little nudges via pm's which pretty much got me to pull out my computer and dust off my muse.

Chapter 7: The Breakfast Club

Apart from getting clocked by a well endowed blonde, the remainder of the morning proved uneventful. Harrison had chosen to forgo Dean's orders of catching a few z's and instead went about getting himself ready for a new day.

Truth be told, the idea of falling back to sleep put the young man on edge. It just so happened that lately he couldn't give in to unconsciousness without waking in unfamiliar territory. It was disconcerting to say the very least.

A duffel bag, old and beat up and on its way to that big trash bin in the sky, held what little clothing Harrison now owned. The style of jeans were a bit more vintage than he was used to but they seemed to make him blend with the rest of the world. Save for a trunk load of weapons and old Latin textbooks, he would do anything in his power to fit in. It just made hunting that much easier.

Harrison quietly pulled out a new set of clothes from the bag. He moved his stiff body towards the bathroom, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping hunters. Once inside, he relaxed. His eyes roamed the tired image reflected in the mirror. His fingers prodded the bruising around his snout. Slight discomfort made the hunter snap his head back in surprise.

Harrison tossed the fresh pile of clothes on the sink ledge before stripping his old ones off. The young Winchester couldn't help but grumble his displeasure as he went through the motions.

"Bitch nearly broke my nose."

His mind was racing with that certain Winchester I-think-I-just-stumbled-on-a-case-or-I'm-very-paranoid- quality. His gut instincts were kicking him or perhaps it was just indigestion. No, he was pretty sure it was gut instincts. The clue was in the buxom blonde who'd nearly taken off is nose with a right hook. No woman he'd ever met possessed the amount of strength he'd felt behind that coiled fist. It was an inhuman quality he associated with the same things he was taught to hunt. The only problem was, what the hell was she?

Harrison shed the last of his clothing, deciding to put his geek side on hold until after he was showered. Besides, he liked to enjoy his showers without the horrible nag of a case.

* * *

It had been nearly four hours since Harrison had left the motel. Wandering across endless asphalt, he'd managed to hitchhike his way into town. Dean had decided they stay at some place twenty minutes from town and the nearest diner.

Harrison was nearing the bottom of his third cup of coffee by seven a.m. Sam's laptop sat across from him. He had four different boxes open across the screen. Some were sites from the local newspaper while the others related supernatural information.

The young hunter ran a rough hand over his eyes. Maybe if he pressed hard enough the answers would come to him. Harrison felt haggard and worn down, sitting mindlessly in front of the computer. His body was on caffeine overload, he hadn't taken a cigarette break in the last forty-five minutes and for once in his life he didn't have a single clue as to what he was dealing with.

"Maybe Dean's right…"

A hearty laugh sounded from beside him. Harrison looked up in time to see Sam standing with his hands in his pockets. It appeared as though he'd just woken up.

He gestured to the empty booth across from Harrison. The young man gave his okay and waited as his father took a seat.

"I think you're the first person who has ever said that."

Harrison smiled at the attempt Sam was making. The truth was, as much as he wanted to start bonding with the youngest of the brothers, he was afraid to. He'd stopped opening up to people years ago and the idea of starting a relationship with this younger version of his father scared him. What if he lost Sam? He couldn't very well hopscotch time whenever he felt like it and hell, he didn't even know how to do it in the first place.

Sam and he hadn't really had much of anything going yet. A few words here and there- the usual "nice weather were having" sort of conversation but little to nothing else besides that. Whenever Harrison felt like he could approach him, Sam got this distant look in his eyes. The brown orbs stared right through the man and although he'd never say anything, it was that look that shredded his heart every time. It was a look of unfamiliarity, as though Sam was looking back at a stranger. Reasoning told Harrison that Sam didn't know him, but Harrison knew him. He'd known him for the better part of his life and it was that same person who now could so very easily look right through him without hesitation.

"Harrison?"

"Mmm, sorry, zoned out."

Harrison reached for his mug of coffee. It was cold and there wasn't much left, but he had to wrap his hands around something to steady them.

"I see you borrowed my computer?"

"Yeah, I thought I had something but…"

Sam bore an intense look across his boyish features. Eyebrows furrowed, he reached a tentative hand across the table. A warm touch startled Harrison back to the present. Past experiences made him pull away from the gentle hand. He'd yet to lift his head and when he did he was surprised to find a callused set of fingers hovering near his jaw line. Sam was staring, eyes revealing nothing to the younger man.

Harrison opened his mouth to make some homosexual crack because the level of awkwardness was rising to a degree that could only be righted with a gay joke. However, as his lips parted, no words came out. Sam's hand reached across the small space once again. His fingers gripped the width of Harrison's chin in a gentle vice, tilting his head right and left beneath the sodium bulb above.

"What happened to your face?"

The hunter visibly flinched. Sam brought his hand back onto the table. Harrison released the tension he'd been holding in his back. He refused to give in to Sam's dewy sensitive eyes. Chickflicks weren't his thing.

"Nothing big, just a scratch."

"A scratch?"

"I fell?" Harrison forced a grin that his father obviously wasn't enjoying. It faded just as quickly as it had appeared.

"Some broad ran her fist into my nose" Harrison shrugged "no biggie."

"When did this happen?"

"Early this morning when I went out for smokes. I thought maybe she was something hunt worthy but after browsing the internet I'm thinking she's just really strong."

Sam relaxed into the booth. A grin spread across his face which in turn immediately put Harrison at ease as well. The last thing either of them wanted was to put the other one off balance.

"So, you got beat up by a chick?"

Harrison smirked through the playful ribbing. He was never going to live the moment down.

"She distracted me with her breast, what was I supposed to do? Not look at them?"

His father threw his head back with laughter. Cheeks blossoming into a bright pink, the joyous sound shattered whatever silence remained in the diner. Hands clapping above his chest, Harrison was vaguely reminded of a circus seal. The site was definitely something he hadn't seen much of before. Brooding, drunken Sam would have been more what he was used to but he wasn't going to complain about happy, sober Sam anytime soon.

The laughter slowly died down and the two young men eased into a comfortable silence. Sam offered to get them both another cup of coffee because as he reasoned, Dean didn't wake up until the clock was on double digits. Harrison opted for decaf because he could feel the rattle of his nerves as the caffeine fix tore through his system.

He waited, eyes daring to shut as Sam placed their orders at the counter. Now that the possibility of a case had been thrown out the window, his body was finally beginning to relax. The caffeine made him jittering but he couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. The past week hadn't offered him any comfortable sleep, not without putting him out in a parking lot somewhere.

"Two creams, one sugar?"

Harrison's eyes snapped open. When had he closed them?

"Sorry, what?"

Sam smiled and placed a coffee mug under his drooping head. Harrison reveled in the warmth from the wafting steam.

"I take two creams and a sugar so…"

"It's safe to assume I do too?"

Sam nodded.

"I used to. Back in high school that's all I drank, then when coffee started replacing everything else I switched it up to three sugars. Can't help the sweet tooth."

Harrison grinned around the lid of the cup partially wishing it was caffeinated because it was becoming increasingly harder to stay awake.

"Everything alright?"

"Fine."

* * *

The eldest Winchester turned fitfully in his sleep. Arms grasping at the bed sheets, he awoke, panting and strangling a duvet cover. It took a moment for the darkness to part and reveal the few rays of sunlight that dare enter the room.

Dean turned to the bedside clock. It was way too early for him. Their constant flash came out mockingly the tired man whose only thoughts were of falling back asleep.

Hands reaching for the pillow, he was almost settled back into position when he noticed something he didn't quite like. It was quiet. Silent really. Not light snoring or creaking of box springs.

Dean glanced over the left side of his bed to the empty sleeping bag. It was a crumpled mess on the dingy, orange carpeting but it was vacant nonetheless. To the right of the room, in the remaining bed, Dean saw nothing. The bed had been made right down to the wrinkles being pressed out of the duvet cover. No Sam and no Harrison.

"Great."

The situation wouldn't have bothered him quite as much if it hadn't been for Harrison's constant lying. Dean had found a used cigarette pack, still containing cigarettes in it last night before going to bed. Why had Harrison lied about that? Then there was the strange sleeping pattern the kid had developed. Going to bed fully clothed? Waking up in the Impala? Dean had been pretty certain that the kid had just snuck off in his Chevy, picked up some chick and did the deed on his upholstered seats. However, the more his brain got to thinking, the more he believed it was something entirely different.

Dean cursed and grumbled his way around the motel room, picking up a t-shirt here and a pair of jeans there. He hastily threw himself together, snatching his leather jacket off a nearby chair as he went to exit the room. Once outside, he had to restrain himself from freaking out. Heart in his throat, he clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides.

He was staring at an empty parking space that no longer held his beloved Impala. Cursing low under his breath, Dean headed for the highway, thumb out and walking backwards into town where he was going to kick his little brother's ass.

* * *

Sweat covered his upper torso, in thick discomfort. Wiping off the moist layer from his face, Dean grumbled his displeasure across the parking lot. He'd spotted the black muscle car from the highway and was only slightly relieved to know that he had found them.

The hunter took wide, hurried steps across the blacktop. As he passed the wide expanse of windows lining the diner he caught site of his brother and Harrison sitting in a booth. Wide grins spread across their faces sitting there like a bunch of old friends. Dean was going to wipe those grins right off their faces.

He gave the door to the diner a harsh jerk. The bell tolled above his head, announcing his presence only to the waitress nearby. Before he could race across the linoleum to his family, a head of tight blonde curls and a pinstripe dress appeared in front of him.

"What can I get ya doll?"

Dean brushed lightly pass her while mumbling "A body bag."

Harrison was waving his arms wildly in front of himself as narrated the story of the hooker in Vegas for Sam.

"So then she suggests the slots and I say 'slots, isn't that a little kinky' and she says…"

"What the hell is this?!"

Sam jumped at the voice. Harrison smirked, having spotted Dean a few minutes earlier trekking across the parking lot with a look that could kill. Now the eldest Winchester stood, hands on his hips, panting and sweating next to the booth.

"Sorry, that's not quite how the story goes" Harrison's grin widened.

Dean faked a laugh. "Keep smirking you cocky son of…"

"Dean, what's wrong with you and….and why are you so sweaty?"

Harrison couldn't help the snort that escaped. "Dude, you smell."

Dean was seething at this point. Back to the newest member of the Winchester clan, he faced Sam gesturing for him to get out of the booth. Sam gave him a questioning look before he felt Dean's hand around his arm.

"We need to talk" he said through gritted teeth before turning on Harrison "alone."

Arms folded across his chest the youngest Winchester suddenly took on a stony expression. His eyes conveyed the anger he felt towards Dean at the moment. He'd finally had time with Sam, to get to know him, for Sam to know who he was and now Dean was taking that away from him.

Sam hesitated for a moment. The dramatic shift in Harrison's behavior was unsettling. One moment he'd been nothing but a Chatty Kathy doll, all smiles and then in a split second he had shut himself down. Securing his emotions and putting on that Winchester façade that made Sam want to lash out with rage.

"We'll be back in a minute" he said and followed Dean out of the diner.

The door chimed and Harrison watch in dismay as the remainder of his family walked out on him. Not literally really, he knew they were coming back but he still couldn't help the sickening feel it brought him. As much as he'd like to believe, Harrison just didn't feel like he belonged there. There wasn't much he could do about any of it. He was enjoying his stay with his family but it just didn't fit. It wasn't right that he be in their time.

Harrison drank the last of his coffee. His gaze shifted to his watch. Sam and Dean had been gone for nearly ten minutes. What were they doing? Not really known for having patience, Harrison got up and paid the bill before heading for the door. The impala was still parked where Sam had left it but there was no sign of either Winchester men anywhere in the parking lot.

"What the…"

"…hell are you talking about Dean?"

Harrison turned at the raised voice.

"Sammy, just calm down okay. Breathe."

"Dean, he's family."

Harrison followed the voices to the edge of the diner to where his family was hiding, arguing behind the building. The young man pulled out of sight before either of them noticed him standing there. Back pressed firmly against the brick siding, he listened, chest tightening as the words yelled their way out of Dean's mouth.

"He's been lying to us. I caught him sneaking in this morning with a busted nose."

"He went out for cigarettes…"

"Sam there was nearly half a pack left in the room. And then the Houdini acts he's been pulling while he's asleep. I mean the kid woke up in my car only a few nights ago."

"Well, maybe if you didn't force him to sleep on the floor…"

"The Impala doors were locked."

"He's a hunter."

Dean let out a sigh. "Sam, when he woke up he looked disoriented. Like he didn't know how he got there. I think it's time we start realizing that Harrison isn't telling us the whole truth. I don't think we should trust him."

Harrison grinded his teeth together. He had to do something to expel the emotions building up inside him. Stepping away from the building he made his way through the parking lot.

A wood paneled station wagon was parked a few spaces away from the Impala. Harrison pulled a paper clip from his jeans pocket and picked the lock within seconds. His only thought was on getting the hell out of Dodge. He kneeled below the steering wheel, hotwired the car and put it in to gear.

The driver to the vehicle must have been the one stepping out of the diner. Arms waving and shouting something the hunter couldn't make out over the radio. Harrison raised his head, glaring through the windshield as he spun out of the parking lot.

* * *

A/N: This chapter ended turning out a bit different than I expected. The next one will involve some nice tasty action. This was a little filler chapter so hope you still enjoyed it. Sorry for the cliché the OC eavesdrops on Sam and Dean only to find out they don't like him type of scenario. Couldn't help it :D 


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